


Ho Ho Hasgard

by daisyridley, LieutenantSaavik



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, Fluff, Hanukkah, Memes, Multi, christmas crack ft. revengers, we're all trash here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyridley/pseuds/daisyridley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantSaavik/pseuds/LieutenantSaavik
Summary: "I know they have quite the consumerist culture on Midgard -- perhaps a little ‘Christmas’ is what Asgard needs, to lighten the mood a bit.”In this Ragnarok AU, the Asgardian refugees were evacuated just a little earlier. This changed the course of events in three ways:1. Hela gets her power from Asgard, and since Asgard is a place and not a people, Hela lost her power as soon as “Asgard” left.2. The Grandmaster, being the all-powerful nutcase that he is, offered Sakaar as a place for the Asgardian refugees to stay until Hela was taken care of, and proceeded to imprison Hela in a cell guarded by Skurge.3. Thor and Brunnhilde became impromptu leaders of Asgard-on-Sakaar, much to the Grandmaster's chagrin.This is a crack fic with a little heart, a little fluff, and a lot of holiday cheer.





	1. Chapter 1

“My fellow Asgardians! And Bruce. Welcome.”

“Really,” Loki points out as Thor steps through the door, “We should be welcoming you. You’re late.”

“We need,” Thor announces grandly, ignoring his comment, “To do something. All of Asgard is on Sakaar, and, to be very honest, morale is terrible.”

“Oh,” says Brunnhilde, slamming her black chestplate onto the table. “Morale. Looks like you’ve learned a new vocabulary word.” She plucks a rag from her pocket and starts polishing the metal without looking at it, locking eyes with Thor. “I wonder why they’re feeling down. Maybe it’s because they were relocated from a beautiful city made entirely of gold to an interdimensional junkyard. Maybe it’s because the goddess who almost destroyed them lives in this very tower and screams all night in her cell. Or maybe they are all plain fucking depressed, because we’ve done absolutely nothing to give them any hope.”

“I object to that,” cuts in the Grandmaster, raising a finger.

“To what?” Brunnhilde regards him blisteringly. “We haven’t given them anything to fight for. They miss that.”

“If you’d just let me-” he starts.

“If you’d just let him-” Loki tries.

“If you’d just let me talk!” Brunnhilde snaps. “I’m just pointing out that it’s time we did something instead of sitting,on our royal asses. We got stuck with the shit responsibility of all these people, so we’re the ones who have to help them, even though it goddamn sucks. And the way to do that is not through making them kill each other in your gladiatorial contests; are we clear?”

“That’s,” the Grandmaster waves his hand vaguely through the air, “Not what I was objecting to.”

Brunnhilde’s fingers twitch. “Fine. What was it, then?”

“The -- the word ‘cell.’ You know I don’t like that.”

“Alright. Hela screams all night in her nice little empty barren containment chamber that she’ll be stuck in until the universe ends. Does that not offend you?”

Bruce looks as though he is considering death.

“Well,” the Grandmaster admits, “It’s better.”

“Loki?” Brunnhilde asks.

“Are you asking my opinion? Beca-”

“I’m not. I was going to tell you that your taste in boyfriends is even shittier than your personality.”

“He is not my fucking boyfriend-” Loki begins, stopped abruptly by one of Brunnhilde’s daggers hissing through the air next to his head and thudding ominously into the wall.

“Shut it,” she says, drawing the words out slowly, a new blade already in her hand. “Or next time, I won’t miss.”

“As I was saying,” Thor cuts in loudly, clearing his throat. “As a way to improve morale. I think we should host a celebration.” He rocks back on his heels, grinning widely, clearly expecting some sort of applause.

Loki claps once and folds his hands on the table. “That’s it?”

“Well, I came to you guys to work out the details.”

Brunnhilde snorts. “You came here to have us do all the work, you mean. I say drinks and going home.”

“I say gladiator matches-” Loki casts a nervous glance around the table, “Nonlethal, of course.”

Brunnhilde grinds her teeth. “We just established that the Grandmaster’s arena is closed.”

“Funny how you’re only objecting to that _now_ ,” Loki snips. “When you were getting paid to throw people to their deaths, you seemed to find the spectacle entertaining.”

“Are you trying to declare that you have moral high ground on me? Are you seriously fucking going there?” Brunnhilde stands and slams her palms on the table. “You, who arrived as a terrified wreck and narrowly avoided dying the way you deserved to by becoming that ancient creature’s _consort?_ ”

The Grandmaster blinks slowly and turns to look over his shoulder, as if Brunnhilde will be pointing to some _other_ ancient creature seated at the table. “From the way he acted, I thought he was having a very good time.”

“Well,” Loki admits, “For the most part-”

The sound of crackling lightning stops the conversation in its tracks. “Enough!” Thor shouts, and even Brunnhilde is surprised by the anger in his voice. “Now is a time for charity. We need each other more than ever, and this petty bickering is -- is petty! Are we heroes for these people, or are we a bunch of-” he stops suddenly, clearly searching for the word.

“Idiots,” say Brunnhilde and Loki at the same time, and scowl.

“Or are we a bunch of idiots?” Thor completes. “Every community holds a festivity in its darkest times as a reminder that better days are to come. I believe we should do the same; our people might get excited, too.”

“They live,” Brunnhilde observes, “In apartments made of trash.”

“But it’s all about the fun! That doesn’t matter!”

“You, my dear brother, are so naive.” Loki heaves a theatrical sigh. “But I do agree with you. My, what a painful phrase. But just think. Celebrations! Festivities! Chaos! Exactly what enthused Sakaar. I know they have quite the consumerist culture on Midgard -- perhaps a little ‘Christmas’ is what Asgard needs, to lighten the mood a bit.”

“You’re trying too hard,” Brunnhilde mutters dryly. “Thor doesn’t even know what consumerist means. He’s all muscle and no brains.” She gives him an affectionate once-over. “Though it’s a welcome change from Loki, who is, in fact, a pathetic twink.”

“Excuse me?” Loki asks.

The Grandmaster giggles.

Thor shakes his head resolutely. “I have plenty of brains. Muscles are brains.”

“Brains are muscles,” Bruce corrects.

“Same thing.”

“It’s… it’s really not. But, Thor, going back to your point -- of course mainstream Christmas, as we know it today, was cemented by the dominant class to promote and enforce certain consumerism rituals, and it has few ties to its original meaning. But I suppose that getting into the so-called ‘Christmas spirit does’ make people more joyous, so your idea could actually work.”

“Great!” Thor beams. “I didn’t understand a word. Well done, Banner!”

Brunnhilde slams her forehead into her hand. “Are we really going to try to recreate a Midgard celebration?”

“On Midgard, people always get so happy when holidays come! Like Rosh Hashanah, Hanukkah -- Christmas is around the same time as Hanukkah, isn’t it? That was Jane’s favorite; she loved the lit candles and the dreidel game.” For a moment, Thor looks mournful; then his exuberance is back. “To bring Hanukkah and Christmas to Asgard would be wonderful. Of course,” he adds as an afterthought, “I just know about those two holidays because I spent most of my time with white Americans. I'm sure there are more.”

“There are plenty.” Bruce takes off his glasses and starts polishing them on his shirt. “I’m not entirely sure how… replicable… they are. The materials we have around here aren’t exactly conducive to the types of festivities associated with the holidays. I don't know where we could find a menorah, for instance.”

“But it still could work?”

Bruce shrugs awkwardly. “Uh, sure?”

"Great! Now, I didn't spend much time on Midgard, so I don't know much about these happy traditions, so I'm definitely going to need your help.”

Loki turns to Thor. “Brother, you offend me. Aren't you going to ask for my aid, as well?"

“The time you spent on Midgard before 1500 CE doesn’t count. Nor does the time you spent trying to conquer it. That was, like, May.”

“Brother of mine! Who do you think the Grinch was modelled after?”

“You?”

Bruce tilts his head. "I guess I can see that. I mean, you are a nasty, wasty skunk."

Loki turns. “A nasty what now?”

“You know -- the song. ‘Your heart is full of unwashed socks, your soul is full of gunk’?”

“I take offense again! It’s common knowledge that I don’t _have_ a soul, thank you very much. But for your information, I’m also the inspiration for the Snowmiser, the Head Elf from Rudolph, the kid from Home Alone-”

Bruce throws his hand up. “Please stop before you ruin any other movie.”

“-And, my personal favorite, the Winter Warlock from Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town.”

“Don’t worry, Loki. I will value your aid as well as Banner’s,” Thor decides. "First things first. I would suggest choosing the right music for the experience, but, unfortunately, we don't have access to Midgard music.”

"Sure we do,” Loki drawls. “I have Spotify Premium."

"How on earth do you have access to it from here?"

"Bruce, for someone with as many PhDs as you, you’re remarkably dim. I pay a monthly subscription for the service. Of course, it’s not real money, but no mortal can reprimand me for _that_ \-- I mean, they invented bitcoins.”

"Well, if that's not an issue, then I'd ask Brunnhilde to search for the holiday songs she likes best. Obviously, Banner is more knowledgeable than she is, but Asgard hasn't really moved past lyres, so she's better suited to finding something of our people's tastes. Would you agree to that?"

Brunnhilde sighs. "Right, I'll do it, but I'm also going to need access to these singers' info."

"Why? Can't you just play them?"

"I don't want to accidentally pick someone who turned out to be, like, a rape apologist, duh!"

Thor nods. "That is fair. Loki, can you help with that?"

"I sure can. Permission to kill any and all rape apologists we find?"

“Mm, maybe later?”

“Come on. As a Christmas gift?” Brunnhilde wheedles.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Speaking of presents,” Bruce adds, “They’re a big part of the holiday season. Of course, the idea of Santa Claus has been popularized by corporate industries, but the concept of gifts is crucial to many cultures, and we can’t ignore it.”

“Oh, no.” Loki fixes his hair. “We can’t have Santa Claus deliver gifts. Do you know where that guy comes from? From a saint. We’re gods! Saints are at least three steps below us. We can’t have one of _them_ take all the credit.”

Brunnhilde finishes polishing her armor and holds it up to the light. “The new Valkyrie could be our gift deliverers.”

“But the Valkyrior’s duty is to take the souls of dead warriors to the Valhalla,” Thor protests.

“Yes, so we could say that, once a year, the Valkyrie take the souls of dead warriors, put them into toys, and give them to little kids.”

Loki raises his hands. “I believe I speak for everyone when I ask you, Lady Brunnhilde, to never say anything like that again.”

“There might be some alternatives,” Bruce tries. “For example, certain cultures exchange handmade crafts and then burn them all to the ground. Now—”

“Are you suggesting that people burn all of their handmade work?” the Grandmaster asks. “That’s the best idea anyone’s had all day. I could provide a spaceship and make a party out of it.” He claps his hands. “Fireworks!”

Loki coughs. “Uh, wash the spaceship first. Very well.”

“The exchanging gifts part isn’t that bad,” Thor observes.

“Minus the arson?” Brunnhilde asks.

“Yes.”

“Does it have to be minus the arson?”

“Yes, Loki.”

“And, mmm, does it have to be minus the orgies?” the Grandmaster asks.

“Unquestionably.”

The Grandmaster rolls his eyes. “You people have no sense of fun. That’s a capital offense, you know. Or,” he casts a dark look at Thor, “It used to be.”

Thor ignores him. “Remember, Midgard’s winter parties are to celebrate the middle of its dark season, because be a new dawn, a new day, a new life is coming. It’s a time for fun, so we need to use all the traditions we can find.”

“Yes,” agrees Loki sagely. “My favorite is when they they hang plastic bats on doorframes and kiss under them -- but if you want the kiss, you have to beat the bat with a piece of mistletoe. Either that or kick them.”

“Kick them?” Brunnhilde asks.

“Of course. That’s why they call the tradition mistle _toe_.”

Thor turns to Bruce. “Banner, is that-”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bruce says hurriedly. “That’s, uh, exactly how it goes. It’s my favorite part of the holidays.”

“Really?” Thor looks delighted. “Wonderful! Somebody should be making a list.”

“Yes, and add the part where Midgardians paint eggs in vibrant colors, gift-wrap them, and hide them around the house, so you can step on one at any moment and get raw egg and ripped paper all over your feet. And the part where they buy striped hooks of candy, lick them until they’re sharp, and stick them in stockings, so that when you pull on your stockings, you get poked.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Thor objects.

“There’s even a song lyric that goes with it -- ‘it’s Christmas time, so run for your life.’”

“That definitely doesn’t sound right.”

“It is,” Bruce says. “It’s by Sia.”

“It’s goin’ on the playlist.” Brunnhilde grins. “Anyone got a tablet so I can start compiling songs?”

“I’ll get you one.” Bruce stands and heads toward the door.

“Don’t Midgardians also choke each other with wreaths to vent their anger before the new year?” Loki asks.

“Not usually,” says Bruce, turning quickly in the doorway. “Not usually, no.”

“These holidays are way more violent than I thought.” Brunnhilde nods slowly. “I dig it.”

“Jane lit candles and exchanged presents with her family,” Thor complains. “How sure are you that these are the right traditions?”

“Brother, are you doubting the wisdom of the eighty-PhD Bruce Banner?”

“Of course not. Of course not.”

“Besides,” Brunnhilde shrugs a shoulder, “Jane dumped you.”

“I told you -- it was a _mutual_ dumping. Like two dump trucks at once. Never mind; that’s a bad analogy.” Visibly irritated, Thor huffs. “We need to get decorations.”

“Broomsticks,” says Bruce. “Broomsticks and pumpkins. Don’t forget those. Pine trees, ornaments, stars. Eggs and candy.”

“Fireworks?” The Grandmaster grins.

“Yes, fireworks. Stockings, wreaths, witches, candy canes, cute little rabbits. Everything.” Bruce snaps his fingers. “Eggnog.”

Brunnhilde appears thoughtful. “Spiked eggnog?”

“I thought… you were getting over your alcoholism?” Thor asks hopefully.

Brunnhilde pushes her chair back from the table and puts her feet up. “Not a chance.”

“Get your feet off the table,” the Grandmaster orders. “It’s still my property.”

“You’re no longer my employer, so I don’t have to listen to you.”

“But it’s still my tower,” he returns petulantly, “And my Sakaar.”

Brunnhilde reluctantly retracts her feet, leaving two large globs of mud behind. “You’re just pissed because I chased Topaz up to Xandar with the melt stick.”

“I do miss my melt stick,” he admits. “Was it, uh, was it really necessary to jettison it into deep space?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“You know,” says Loki, “I never did figure out why you and Topaz hated each other.”

Brunnhilde shrugs. “Ask Korg.”

“Korg?” Thor asks. “How would he know?”

Brunnhilde fixes her eyes on his. “Korg. Knows. Everything.”

“I think it’s because he’s friends with the weird old man who cut your hair, Thor,” the Grandmaster remarks. “He’s the, the only one of my subjects that I can’t get a read on. He’s a bit of a nuisance, isn’t he?”

“He gives me nightmares,” says Thor, entirely serious. “Banner, get the tablet. We need the music.”

“On it.” Bruce vanishes from the doorway and footsteps are heard retreating down the hall.

Brunnhilde looks after him mournfully. “He’s so boring. I miss the Hulk.”

Loki shakes his head. “I most certainly do not.”

“Really?” Brunnhilde turns to him slowly, mischief glinting in her eyes. “What’d he do to you?”

“Yeah, and,” the Grandmaster draws his finger lazily through the air, “How do he and Thor know each other?”

“Long stories, both of those,” says Thor pointedly. “For a later time.”

“Hey, hey now,” the Grandmaster spreads his arms, “We’re in no hurry. Do tell.”

“He lives for juicy stories,” Loki explains.

“Oh, yes.” The Grandmaster leans forward “I do.”

Thor narrows his eyes. “Loki, what did you tell him about me?”

“Nothing of note.”

“Yeah, right,” Brunhilde snorts.

Loki glares at her before composing himself and turning to Thor. “You vastly overestimate your affect on my life if you believe yourself to be a topic of my and my lover’s conversation. You never came up. ‘I’ve never seen this man in my life,’ remember?”

“Lover?” Brunnhilde’s voice is silky. “Oh, so you do admit it.”

“No.” The Grandmaster contradicts her with a pointed finger. “Lover is the wrong word entirely. He’s my mistress.” He blinks at Loki seductively. “Right, dear?”

Loki starts coughing loudly, turning to face the wall.

“Get me some brain-blasting beer or kick me off this planet,” Brunnhilde groans, “Now.”

Thor’s about to interject when Bruce skids through the doorway, brandishing a rectangle of flat black metal in his hand. “Tablet acquired!”

“Throw it over.” Brunnhilde lazily raises a hand.

“Are you joking? This is precious.”

“Fuck, dude, I can catch.”

“And I can walk.” Bruce steps neatly toward her, immediately tripped by the Grandmaster’s robe. The tablet spins from his hand as he crashes to the floor.

“Impressive,” Brunnhilde snorts. She gives the sprawled Bruce a withering look before lifting the undamaged tablet off the ground. “What’s this made of, vibranium?” She powers it on and starts typing away.

“What _is_ it made of?” Bruce asks, picking himself off the floor.

“Something more durable than you, apparently.” Brunnhilde holds the tablet up in front of her. “Silent night,” she reads, completely deadpan. “Holy night. All is calm. All is bright.” She drops the tablet to the table in disgust. “This fucking blows. Where are the songs about ancient warriors?”

“Hey.” Bruce slaps dust off his pants and seats himself. “Don’t you dare insult Christmas carols.”

“They suck! Where’s the one you mentioned, about running for your life?”

“Check Sia’s new album, I guess.”

“If all Midgard’s music is this awful-”

“It’s not!”

“Ah.” Brunnhilde clutches the tablet and breaks into a smile. “This is more like it. ‘Ho ho ho, bring a bottle of booze.’ Sensible, authoritative. Perfect.”

“Even I am going to need some booze after this,” Thor mumbles.

“It don’t get better than this,” Brunnhilde continues. “Ho ho ho, in the land of misfits.” She looks to Thor. “Land of misfits? What’s that?”

“I have a better question.” Loki folds his hands together. “I know I’ve been cruel and mischievous, but believe me when I say this is a query of monumental seriousness.”

“Okay,” Brunnhilde slides in her chair, “Shoot.”

“Why weren’t you at Elf Practice?”

Everyone turns, stupefied, as Bruce dissolves in laughter.

“Oh dear,” says the Grandmaster distractedly. “I think someone broke him.”

“Even Loki’s laughing.” Brunnhilde jerks her chin toward him. “Look at him. He’s probably just made the first half-decent joke of this life, and I don’t even get it.”

“It’s from a really old movie,” Bruce explains, calming himself. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

“Who the what now?”

“Never mind. It’s… well, it’s got a horrible message -- basically, if you’re different, you’ll be punished unless your deviation from the norm is exploitable. In that movie, the Land of Misfit Toys is the place where lost and unloved things go to live for the rest of their lives.”

“So…” Brunnhilde looks around, “Sakaar?”

Bruce thinks for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

Brunnhilde nods and turns back to the song. "‘Ho ho ho, bring a friend if you please, bring them all to their knees.’ This is the good shit. Don't know what this 'ho' business is, unless we're talking about Loki."

"Will you stop that?"

"Hey. Shut it. You speak, I stab, remember?"

“Ahem! Has anyone made the list of everything we’ll need?” Bruce cuts in. “We’re definitely gonna need one.”

“I call not making it.”

“Nobody was going to trust you with it anyway, Loki.”

“I vote you make it, Bruce.” Thor smiles. “You’re the only Midgardian.”

“I get stuck with everything,” Bruce gripes. “Some democracy. Get the tablet, Bruce! Make the list, Bruce! Tell everyone Midgardian holiday traditions, even though you’re atheist, Bruce!”

“How are you an atheist,” Loki asks, disbelieving, “When you’re sitting at a table with two literal gods?”

“Oh,” says Bruce, shaking his head. “You guys? You guys -- you’re just -- I’m sorry, but you just don’t count.”

“I take it back.” Thor points at Bruce accusingly. “I do prefer the Hulk.”

Brunnhilde starts to stand. “That makes two of us. Bruce, I guess you’d rather we had no party at all?”

“Now you’re just guilt-tripping. Can I borrow the tablet?”

“If you can catch.”

“Never mind.”

“Just give it to him, please,” Thor groans.

Brunnhilde rolls her eyes and slides it across the table. “Playlist is about half-finished.”

“It’s got two songs,” Bruce says flatly.

“What? How long is this party supposed to last?”

“At least an hour!”

“Well, I’m out.” Brunnhilde grabs her chestplate, tucks it under her arm, and stands. “Call me back when we get the spiked eggnog.”

“Brunnhilde, wait.” Thor’s rumbling voice stops her, and she swings herself around in the doorway. “Asgard looks up to you,” he pleads. “You’re a hero to them.”

If she stops, it’s only because she’s too stunned to look away from him. “No, I’m not,” she laughs.

“You are,” Loki confirms, immediately turning away from Bruce’s tablet and raising his voice in her direction, pleased to interrupt the heartfelt moment between her and Thor. “I’ve seen the way they look at you.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Well, if Loki’s jealous, I must have some power, then.”

“You do,” Thor assures her.

She sighs. “Well, how about I finish the playlist and spread the word about the party? Sound good to you, your majesty?”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Bruce looks at Thor for confirmation. “They like you; they’ll come.”

“That’s a good idea,” Thor echoes. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Loki clears his throat. “Do I not get any thanks? I was just as helpful-”

“Bruce,” Thor suggests pointedly, “Assign tasks.”

Bruce nods. “Uh, Grandmaster? Is that your name? Anyway, can you turn your arena into some sort of… dance floor? With tables for food around the edges?”

“Competitive dances.” The Grandmaster snaps his fingers. “The worst dancers become part of the food.”

“No! No! God, you don’t,” Bruce tilts his head, “You really haven’t learned anything. Dancing is for fun, so people can feel happy again. I can’t believe I even have to say this, but nobody is gonna die, and nobody is gonna be eaten.”

“But how can people feel, uh, feel happy when they don’t have a competition to, hm, to cheer for?”

“He has a point,” Brunnhilde adds.

“Just -- just get some of the Sakaarians to re-appropriate the Hulk decorations they made into holiday streamers and stuff, okay? Make the colors -- fuck, any colors are fine, as long as they don’t have Hulk’s face on them. You know how to throw a party, right? Throw a party. That’s your job. Just throw a party.”

“Gee, well,” the Grandmaster stands, “I’ll be off, then.” With a final imperious wave and a badly concealed eyelash-flutter directed at Loki, he departs.

“Is he trailing sparkles?” Bruce asks, watching him go.

“Probably.” Brunnhilde reseats herself at the table and takes the tablet back. “Which song sounds like a better idea -- ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’ by a singer named Mariah Carey, or ‘Africa’ by a band named Toto?”

“I’m pretty sure that second one isn’t a Christmas song.”

“And I’m pretty sure it is.” She taps the tablet. “Added.”

Thor gives her a thumbs-up. “I’m sure this is going to sound amazing.”

“Of course it will.”

“Thor,” Bruce says, “I know Asgard is off-limits for habitation, but would it be possible to send a spaceship there -- just to retrieve a piece of home for these people? Like musical instruments, or trees to decorate, or anything else we can find. They can’t go home, so maybe we should bring home to them.”

“You’re a wise man, Banner. You go through the Devil’s Anus and get everything you need.”

“Oh,” says Loki, “You can’t send him through the Devil’s Anus alone. I, and not him, know the passcodes to the ship, remember? Besides, he won’t know where to find anything in Asgard once he gets there. You’ll need me to go with him.”

Thor looks at Bruce. Bruce looks at Thor. Both turn to look at Loki.

“Fine,” Thor groans. “Go.”

Loki dramatically places a hand over his heart. “I feel so unwanted. Am I to be punished unless I’m exploitable? This is not Rudolph, you know. _I_ think-”

“Valkyrie?” Thor asks. “Valkyrie, you can, uh. You know.” He looks pointedly at Loki, a failed attempt at subtlety.

“She can do what?” Loki asks, an edge of nervousness creeping into his voice. “What?”

“This.” Smiling, Brunnhilde draws a blade and sends it singing through the air. To everyone’s surprise, Loki stops himself from flinching, remaining impassive as the blade flickers through him and thumps into the wall.

“Oh, you -- you do know I’m not actually here, right?” He laughs and spreads his hands. “I love you all, but you can’t imagine I’d actually trust you.”

Thor heaves a massive sigh and drops his head onto the table with a resounding thunk. “Meeting adjourned.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Is there a single good reason why everything in this city had to be gold?” Bruce asks, squinting into the reflective brightness of the city as he and Loki step off the Commodore spaceship docked on Rainbow Bridge. “It seems… excessive.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “The Allfather, in his infinite wisdom, decided that a kingdom should be built on plunder, so here we are.”

“Wow. You Asgardians as much imperialist jackasses as Earth people are.”

“I take offense.”

“I probably would too, if I grew up here.” Bruce looks from the burned arches and roofs to the snow-covered mountains in the distance. “I bet this place was gorgeous.”

“Some time ago, it was.” Loki looks into the distance for a moment. “Home sweet home. Now, alas, it’s half-ruined, but I can’t say I’m mourning.”

“Why are you so bitter?” Bruce takes off his glasses to polish them on his shirtfront. “I mean, hasn’t it been, like, a thousand years?”

“Odin’s ‘adoption’ of me was more or less the Asgardian equivalent of taking home a VHS tape when you only own a DVD player.”

Bruce winces. “When was the last time you visited Midgard, again?”

Loki frowns. “Shut up. It’s an excellent analogy.”

“It’s -- really not.” He looks up. “No offense.”

“Is there any way what you said could be construed as _not_ offensive?”

“It’s just constructive criticism!” He shifts awkwardly. “Did your dad not love you, or something?”

Loki strikes a pose. “Who knows how Odin felt love? On one hand, I can’t imagine that caring for a brooding wildcard who changed moods as fast as genders was ever easy, but on the other hand, that _is_ a parent’s job. I know Odin cared about me enough to be angry at me, but beyond that, who knows?”

“We all have dad issues. My advice is to get over it,” Bruce says authoritatively. Then he stops. “Hang on -- you change _genders?_ ”

“Yes,” Loki replies imperiously, “I do. And if you are a transphobe, I _will_ impale you.”

“And, hang on -- you change _moods?_ ”

Loki slowly raises an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“Really? I thought you could only feel that weird, like,” Bruce flicks his fingers, “Cold-disdain-thing.”

“I’ll have you know that I feel a wide range of emotions, including, but not limited to, anger, joy, glee, rage, grief, irritation, and yeet.”

“Yeet?” Bruce objects. “That's not an emotion.”

“No,” Loki replies airily, “It's a way of life.”

“Huh.” Bruce thinks for a moment. “...Okay. But anyway, you won’t need to impale me. I switch beings. I’m literally two different people, and one of them isn’t even really a person. I’m gonna be the last person to pass judgement on that sort of thing.”

“Hm.” Loki fixes a strand of his hair. “Speaking of such, your green alter ego owes me an apology.”

“I think _you_ owe all of Earth an apology.” Bruce hurries to catch up to Loki’s widening stride. “I guess I can see why you wanted to rule it -- I mean, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’d be a better leader than most of our current politicians -- but why were you gonna kill people for it?”

“The killing part was… not my original intent.”

“You know, if you had just waited five years to take over Earth, they probably would have just given it to you. I mean, considering the current state of global politics? If I’d been the American president, for instance, I’d’ve happily handed you the keys to the White House and just said _good fucking luck_.”

Loki clenches his jaw. “Banner, you’re becoming quite annoying.”

“British quite or American quite?”

Loki turns. “What?”

“You know. The two definitions of ‘quite.’ If I said I was feeling ‘quite well’ in Britain, it would mean I wasn’t feeling very well at all. If I said I was feeling ‘quite well’ in America, I’d be saying I was, y’know, feeling pretty great.”

“I don’t ‘y’know’ anything,” Loki says with great dignity. “And are you telling me that two groups of people have diametrically opposite definitions for the very same word?”

“Well, yeah. If you want more American-British examples, take the word ‘table.’ In America, it can mean putting a topic aside for a later time -- ‘let’s table that discussion for the present.’ But in Britain, it can mean-”

Loki waves a hand. “You were interesting for a few seconds, but only a few. Can we just proceed with our assignment and remove ourselves from this place?”

“Well,” Bruce spins in a circle, “Do you see any Christmas tree around here?”

“There are trees in the mountains,” Loki informs him. “Turn into the Hulk and rip one from the ground, if you must.”

“I’m not going to just blow up green. Who knows when I’d turn back? Besides, I leave you alone for four seconds, and you’ll ollie out to another dimension with the tesseract from Odin’s treasure trove. You can’t fool me.”

Loki narrows his eyes. “Wait. The tesseract is in the Vault?”

“Oh, shit. No, no, it’s not!”

“Interesting.”

“I’m not gonna let you get it! I’ll go Hulk!” Bruce threatens, waving his hand in the air. “I’ll really do it!”

Loki heaves a great sigh. “Let’s just gather some candles and lyres and mead and then pull up a tree. No tesseract for me, and no sightseeing for you. Deal?”

“You really think I’m going to accept a deal given by you? Wait -- technically _you_ should be asking _me_ that question, because, as Hulk, I’m the only person who can really hand your ass to you. Isn’t that funny?”

Loki opens and closes his mouth for several minutes before gathering himself and brushing a great deal of invisible dust off his clothes. “Perhaps.”

“Then we have a plan of action? Candles and lyres and mead, and then the tree?”

“You tell me.”

“We do.” Bruce takes in the view of Asgard one more time, still squinting. “Quick question. Why is the bridge rainbow? Is everyone on Asgard gay?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “The Rainbow Bridge powers the _bi_ frost. Obviously.


	3. Chapter 3

“Alright, fuckers! Listen up.” Brunnhilde watches the giant projection of herself flicker into existence on the Arena floor and pretends that the thousands of Asgardians in the stands aren’t silently judging her. “Here’s the deal. Asgardians! Life sucks, doesn’t? Everything hurts, and we’re dying. Amiright?”

A stupefied silence greets her.

“I mean, life is -- uh. Fuck.” She looks over to Thor, who gives her an encouraging thumbs-up.

“I was thinking -- we were thinking -- that’s me and Thor and the guy who was the Hulk but turned into a wimp, and Loki -- fuck!” She massages the bridge of her nose, forgetting for a moment that the projection replicates her every move. “Let me start over. The Grandmaster called you all in here, didn’t he? Right. Good. So we’re going to throw a party for refugee Asgardians and native Sakaarians both. So -- drinks, and music, and -- uh. A fun time.”

More silence. A lone voice calls out, “Why are you swearing? My son is here! He’s three years old!”

Brunnhilde winces. “Shit, I’m sorry! Cover his ears, maybe?” She looks to Thor. “This is going terribly!”

Thor grimaces, his thumbs-up becoming a little forced. 

“So what we need you to do is,” Brunnhilde turns back to the Asgardians and adds a gesture, spreading her arms, “Use all the decorations Sakaar has lying around, and get this place looking a bit more festive! A couple of my friends are out getting some other decorations that we’ll use to make the Arena look even more exciting and less like a trash pile. This place really sucks, doesn’t it? I mean -- no, it’s fine! It’s gotta be fine, since it’s your new home forever! I mean -- maybe not forever, but just for now, because Asgard’s been totally wrecked -- I mean -- shit!”

“Maybe I’d better do it,” Thor offers faintly.

Brunnhilde shakes her head at him, resolute. “And also, Asgardians, we need you to show up! To the party, I mean. When the sun goes down tonight, the party starts. Right here, in the pace where a bunch of people died -- damn, I shouldn’t have said that!”

There’s a long pause. Brunnhilde shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “So… does that sound like fun?” she asks, plastering on what she hopes a grin.

More quiet greets her. After what seems like hours, a different voice calls out. “Did you say drinks?”

Brunnhilde squints, trying to make out the person who said it. “I sure did,” she shouts in the general direction. “We’re busting out some Asgardian mead!”

Slowly, then growing, a massive cheer rises from the crowd.

“That’s more like it!” Brunnhilde yells. “Speaking of mead, I’m gonna get some.” She snaps her fingers, ordering Thor into the holographic projector. “You deal with the logistics.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next few hours seem to pass in a blur. Old Asgardians reach out to young Asgardians, and young Asgardians are asked to actually do something for the first time in their lives. Loki and Bruce, returned from their trip, pass out a few green bottles, and soon native Sakaarians are hauling out their old masks and streamers and some suspiciously bloody paint and transforming the Arena, still half-wrecked from Hulk and Thor’s fight, into something that can almost pass for festive. Starting in one corner and crawling toward the other, ribbons are hung, stained stone is covered with glitter, and hand-painted cardboard cutouts of Heimdall, Brunnhilde, and Odin are slapped haphazardly up. Thor picks up a paintbrush to fix the inaccuracies of Odin’s likeness and realises, jarred, that it’s actually him.

“Do you like it?” Korg asks, suddenly at his side.

Thor whirls, taking his hand from where it had drifted to his eyepatch. “I can’t believe you managed to sneak up on me.”

“The party, I mean. Not the eyepatch. I assume you don’t like the eyepatch. Not that it looks bad. It looks very good.” Korg smiles.

“I think the party will go very well, actually.” Thor turns the paintbrush in his hand. “Uh, I hope so, anyway. How about you -- do you like it?”

Korg shrugs. “Well, I tried to paint a cardboard cutout, but cardboard is paper, so it didn’t turn out so well. Just another rock, paper, scissors joke for you.”

“Thank you, Korg. I appreciate it.” Thor reaches out to awkwardly pat his friend on the shoulder.

“Are there supposed to be witches and pumpkins on the stockings?” Korg asks. “I don’t mean to be rude, but the color scheme seems a bit off. Not that the Marvel Cinematic Universe doesn’t need color. It definitely does, in more ways than one.”

“The marvel what now?”

“Oh, that’s just a phrase a friend of mine uses. You know him -- he’s the creepy old man who cut your hair.”

“I definitely do not like that man.”

“Yes, he’s very strange. Always babbling. I feel like he knows things the rest of us don’t.”

“Well, _that’s_ not possible.”

“Of course not. Well, I’ll be painting.” Korg returns the shoulder-pat, almost throwing Thor to the ground with his rocky hand. “Have fun!”

“Thanks, buddy.” Thor massages his shoulder. “Ouch.”

“Ah, brother. Good to see you.” Loki swoops up, nearly smiling.

Thor decides not to notify him of the vast amounts of rainbow glitter coating the entire right side of his face. “Erm, good to see you, too.”

“Yes. Well, Lady Brunnhilde’s drunk in the bathroom upstairs. I just happened to use the ladies’ room, since I was feeling that way, you know, and she’s a little bit… passed-out.”

“You’re saying I should go help her, right?”

“Well, look around. They don’t exactly need you here now.”

“And they need _you_ _?_ ”

“Of course not. They have Heimdall.”

Thor looks across the arena and sees Heimdall placing a little girl on his shoulders so she can paint the eyes on a cardboard likeness of Bruce. “Ah, so they do.”

Heimdall lowers the girl back to the ground, and she gives him a hug. He then lifts a paintbrush himself, artfully drawing gold swirls up and down the walls.

“Sometimes I feel that he’s the only competent Asgardian in existence,” Loki remarks.

“Is that modesty I hear?”

“Oh, no. I’m Sakaarian now.”

“Of course you’d become a citizen of a planet made of trash.”

“Now, now. The holidays are a time to be loving and accepting. Which means helping Brunnhilde back to consciousness.”

“Very well. Let’s go, then.”

 

As they stride off, some of Loki’s whimsicality seems to vanish. “You know, I do know that you care for her.”

“Brunnhilde?”

“All I’m saying is that, if you truly wish to profess something to her… that is the one time and place I can promise you non-interference from me.”

“There’s nothing going on between us. We respect each other very much, and we’re friends, and-”

“Ah, yes. I understand.”

“Now you listen here-”

“Sh.”

“Who’s listening?” Thor whispers, instantly on-guard.

“Nobody. I just wanted you to shut the Hel up.”

 

They find Brunnhilde sitting up against the wall outside the bathroom, hair tangled and eyes bright. “Hey,” she croaks. “I’m feeling a lot better than I look, I swear.”

Thor offers her his arm, but she rolls her eyes and gets to her feet herself. “Can manage,” she slurs, pushing her hair behind her ears. “Iss Crismun. Merry… crisis. Merry chrysler.”

“It is indeed Christmas,” Loki says smoothly, “Or as close as we can manage. Are you sure you are in adequate condition to walk?”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“Asgard and Sakaar are working together for our party.”

“They’re working together? For fuckin’ real?”

“Yes.” Thor grins. “The Christmas spirit Banner mentioned. It’s infused them!”

“No, no.” Loki shakes his head. “It's alcohol that's infused them. We brought out the mead, remember?”

“Oh.”

“Hey, Christmas spirits either way. Spirits? Get it?” Brunnhilde laughs and falls sideways onto Thor’s shoulder. A realisation overtakes her. “Shit, you’re almost as muscle-y as I am. Damn. I could get with a dude like that.”

Loki gives Thor a very pointed look, which Thor equally pointedly ignores. “Let’s go out to the Arena, Brunnhilde, if you’re sure you can handle it.”

“When you drink as much as I do, you either become immune to alcohol or die from it, and I haven’t died, so I _think_ I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re certain.”

“Yup. One-hundred-percent sure.”

After a statement like that, both Thor and Loki expect her to trip and go flying, but as they walk, her steps become more stable. “So all of Asgard is out there?”

“Yes. More or less.”

“All the stupid Asgardians are out there, then.”

“I suppose so.”

“The sun is setting,” Thor notes. “Getting real low. Is the playlist finished?”

Brunnhilde blanches. “Shit, I left the tablet in the bathroom.”

She turns and sprints back to get it. Thor and Loki exchange glances.

“You do love her.”

“I love everyone.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

They wait side-by-side. Brunnhilde is back surprisingly fast, and she hands the tablet to Thor triumphantly. “Finished.”

Loki peers over Thor’s shoulder. “You have about three holiday songs and then…” he looks harder. “ _Ten different versions_ of Africa by Toto?”

“You made this while drunk?” Thor asks, scrolling through Africa by Toto -- Acapella, Africa by Toto -- Skullz Remix, Africa by Toto -- Acoustic, Africa by Toto -- Pop Punk, Africa by Toto -- Heavy Metal. The tablet is plucked from his hand before he can see the others.

“Nope. Totally sober." Brunnhilde tucks the tablet under her arm. "And it’s not ten different versions. It’s nine. The last song on the playlist is ‘Dancing Queen’ by Abba, duh.”

Thor and Loki exchange glances. “I… see,” says Thor, clearly not understanding at all.

“No, listen.” Brunnhilde flaps a hand in front of her face, as if ridding herself of some pesky insect. “This Midgard music. It speaks to your soul. I don’t even know. They said ‘young and sweet’ and I was crying. ‘Friday night and the lights are low.’ I don’t even know what a Friday is. Fuck, I’m so drunk. If you tell anyone, I’ll murder you.”

“Nobody will die today,” Thor assures her. “Come on. Asgard will want to see us.”

“Where’s Grandmaster?” she asks. “That piece of shit… Loki, get your stupid ancient boyfriend to get some fucking speakers, and let’s get this party started.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Asgard and Sakaar are both composed _entirely_ of terrible dancers,” Brunnhilde remarks, a glass of bright blue liquor in her hand. “It’s really kind of funny how bad they are.” In the center of the Arena, where fights were once staged, people dance in swirls of color, the Ninja Sex Party cover of Africa reigning above them.

“Well, they’re just having fun,” Thor objects, leaning back against the Arena wall. Bruce nods in agreement.

Brunnhilde shrugs. “Fair enough. They are terrible, though. At least they seem to like the music.” She sways a little, not drunkenly, but rather to the beat of the song.

“You look nice,” Thor tries. “I like your, uh, armor.”

Brunnhilde gives him an odd look. “I wear this literally every day.”

“Then you look good every day.”

“Thanks for noticing, I guess.”

“Christmas spirit and all that.” Thor smiles.

“Well, let’s get you a drink before you get any sappier. Bruce, what have you got?”

“I just asked for whatever had the lowest alcohol content.” Bruce shifts and takes off his glasses to polish them, suddenly acutely aware that he’s third-wheeling.

Brunnhilde snorts. “Pathetic. You deserve better than that, God of Thunder. Come on; the food’s out. Looks like Loki actually did something useful.”

“He did,” comes a familiar, giddy voice. “Me.”

“I really didn’t need to hear that,” Thor groans through gritted teeth, not turning to look at the suddenly-present Grandmaster. “ _Really_ didn’t.” He stares into the distance. “Oh, god, that’s in my brain. That statement is _in_ my brain.”

Brunnhilde snorts and nudges Thor playfully. “He’s like this all the time. Don’t let him bother you. You do know he called you ‘criminally seductive,’ right?”

“‘Criminally seductive _Lord_ of Thunder,’” Thor quotes, peeved. “It’s _God_ of Thunder. Criminally seductive God of Thunder,” he repeats, looking toward the Grandmaster. “ _God_ of Thunder.”

“So even you add ‘criminally seductive’ to your title?” Brunnhilde asks, wry.

“Well,” Thor shrugs. “Am I not?”

Brunnhilde laughs the sharp laugh of someone surprised to be laughing and raises her right arm above her head, stretching until her shoulder joint pops. “Maybe.” She turns back to the Grandmaster. “Can you just materialise out of thin air?”

“Well -- thin air, thin air is -- can air be thick? Colloquially -- is there such a thing as -- never mind.” The Grandmaster adjusts his collar, resettling his robes. “In simplest terms, I can, uh, molecularly manipulate on a global, global scale, so-”

“Yup, got it.” Brunnhilde eyes the banquet tables. “You’re super-powerful and would have murdered us all if you weren’t such a hedonist. Thor, you gonna come eat, or what? I see those candy canes Loki mentioned.”

“Hedonist,” the Grandmaster murmurs, perplexed. “Hedonist? Do you really think so, so  _ low _ of me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Uh, and what does that mean, exactly?”

“Absolutely?”

“No! No, why would it -- why would I not know what ‘absolutely’ means? I meant hedonist, hedonist, of course.”

“Pleasure-seeker. Thinking good times are more important than anything else.”

“Oh.” The Grandmaster almost giggles. “I’m, I’m flattered. Thank you.”

Brunnhilde looks to Thor and rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “So, food?”

“Of course I’ll eat with you.” Thor offers his hand, but before Brunnhilde can reject it, a razor-edged, warping scream pierces the twilight and shatters the sounds around them. Asgardians and Sakaarians freeze and look up the Grandmaster’s tower, reaching out for each other, hands clutching the robes and wrists of strangers in a wobbling mess of sudden fear.

“Hela,” Brunnhilde hisses, pulling a dagger from her boot. “She’s awake again.”

The Grandmaster turns thoughtful. “Why did, why did we host this party at sundown when we, we know she screams, so, uh-”

“We couldn’t slap this together any faster.” Brunnhilde mutters something under her breath as another anguished shout rends the air. “Well, there’s nothing for it but to turn the music louder.”

“No, no.” The Grandmaster raises his hand. “I’ll quiet her. You two -- three! Oh, geez, Bruce, I forgot you were there. You three just enjoy the party.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey,” Bruce asks, as the Grandmaster puffs off in another sparkly cloud. “Where’s Loki?”

“I do believe he’s in there somewhere.” Thor squints at the partygoers, who are timidly regaining their confidence. “Though a habitual brooder, my brother does enjoy celebration. Ah, there he is.”

He watches as Loki moves through the shaken crowd, reaching out to the small ones, playing flickers of green light along his fingers to bring smiles to their faces. Thor tilts his head, to make sure what he’s seeing is real. “Has he discovered… kindness?”

“It’s a Christmas miracle.” Brunnhilde unceremoniously smashes her glass on the wall behind her. “Nah, he’s just doing what Heimdall’s doing, but with magic. Look.”

Thor watches Heimdall calm three children with a single smile. “Ah, so he is.”

“Loki and Hela are related, right, and you’re the adopted one?”

“Well, no, actually,” Thor admits. “Hela and I are the -- actually, I don’t know if we are siblings or half-siblings. I don’t think I ever will.”

“The Allmother…” Brunnhilde inhales slowly. “Frigga. When I was a Valkyrie, I swore my allegiance to Odin, of course, but I loved her more. It’s hard to believe that she could mother a creature like that. It’s hard to believe that anyone could.”

“So you don’t know who her mother was either?” Bruce asks.

“No. But it doesn’t matter. Your family doesn’t make you. You make yourself, duh.”

“Wise words.”

“Thanks, Bruce. Maybe you’re not so bad after all.”

Bruce scratches the back of his neck, uncertain. “Thanks?”

“I mean, the Hulk was my best friend, so that’s about as good as you’re gonna get.”

“I’ll take it.”

Brunnhilde almost smiles at him. “We should help cheer up the Asgardians and Sakaarians before Loki kills one of them. Come on.”

She leads them into the crowd, crossing first to a young couple and taking their hands in her own. “You’re safe here,” she tells them. “Hela can’t hurt you. Nobody can. You’re here to have a good time.”

“Thank you,” whispers the taller woman, wrapping her other hand around her girlfriend’s waist. “And you, as well.”

Brunnhilde dips her head and moves on, crouching beside an adolescent boy with tears in his eyes. “How’re you feeling?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Not good.”

“You’re worried about Hela.”

“Yes. I’m scared,” his eyes flick to the top of the Grandmaster’s tower, where Hela is kept, “That she’ll escape and hurt us.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Brunnhilde draws herself up to her full height and shouts, “Hey!”

Asgardians and Saakarians turn to regard her, some with fear, most with hope. 

“Guess what?” she calls out, projecting her voice as far as she can. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Loki whisper something, and her voice is magically magnified, echoing all the way to the Arena’s walls. “The Grandmaster is an Elder of the universe, possibly the most powerful being in the galaxy. He’s more powerful than Hela. He’s more powerful than Thor. If he’s got Hela locked up, and he does, she’s not getting out. Ever.” She turns to take in everyone, suddenly confident despite the eyes on her. “Listen. Hela’s not coming out of her cage.”

“She’s not doing just fine!” Bruce cuts in.

“...Right. She’s not doing just fine. Listen, Asgard. Hela’s screaming because she’s angry, and she’s angry because we got the best of her. We beat the Goddess of Death. We’re alive, and that’s what we’re celebrating.”

She senses Thor arrive next to her. “So let’s get back to it!” he bellows happily.

A smattering of applause greets them. Thor offers his arm to her as the Asgardians and Saakarians slowly start to move again. “A dance?”

She shakes her head, resting her hand atop his but not lacing their fingers. “I appreciate it, but I’d rather watch.”

“Back to the periphery, then?”

“I’m tired,” she confesses, realising the truth of it as it slips past her lips. “Do you think there’s a place we can rest?”

Thor looks around. New music pumps energy into the crowd, which comes back to life around them. “They seem to be recovering well without us.”

“Well, the beat of Africa by Toto is awfully hard to resist. It’s gonna take a lot to drag them away from it. And they have Heimdall,” she reminds him.

“Ah, so they do.”

“Did I just hear that you two are ditching?” Loki slides up, still apparently unaware that his face is half-covered in glitter. “Can I join you?”

“And me too?” Bruce’s glasses have somehow broken in the single minute since Brunnhilde last saw him. “I’m introverted.”

“The more the merrier,” says Thor benevolently, “And this is shaping to be a very merry… what was the name of the holiday we’re celebrating again?”

“Christmas, sort of.”

“A very merry Christmas-sort-of.” Thor beams. “Let’s go ditch our party. I know a place upstairs.”


	7. Chapter 7

Plucked music fills the red-and-white room that looks out across the city. “This is nice,” Brunnhilde sighs, entering first. She sees Korg in the corner, considers questioning how he got there, and decides that’s just how he is. “Hey there.”

Miek slices his bladed arm through the air. Korg waves. “Hey, Brunnhilde. How’s it going?”

“Are you playing the ukulele?” Brunnhilde asks.

“I was giving Miek a private concert. Since he has knives for hands, he’s a bit of a dangerous dancer, so he couldn’t go to the party.”

Brunnhilde chuckles. “I can imagine. The concert sounds good.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It does,” Loki agrees, slipping into the room and immediately finding the darkest corner to stand in. “It’s skillful playing.”

“Wow,” Brunnhilde snorts. “Was that legitimate sincerity I heard?”

Loki looks away. “Perhaps.” He removes something from under his arm. “Bruce informed me on the way up that Midgardians often set clothes alight for the holiday season, to provide warmth and ambience in chambers where people gather. So I brought something.”

Thor enters the room just in time to hear and whispers, “Do Midgardians really do that?”

“No,” Bruce whispers back. “Not at all, because that's a fucking stupid idea. But he’s gonna burn that terrible outfit he wore when he attacked Earth, so it’s worth it.”

“It is indeed. You have done everyone’s eyes a great service.”

Bruce nods. “Tell me about it.” He steps forward to Loki and fishes a box of matches from his pocket. “Been carrying this around all day. Was going to light some candles in the arena, but I don’t know how many Saakarians were psychopaths, so I didn’t.”

“A wise decision.” Loki takes the matches and strikes one just to watch it burn. “Do you know what happened to those candles?”

“They’re Asgardian candles, of course, so I gave them to Heimdall.”

“Sensible.” Loki waves the match out just before the flame hits his skin. “Does anybody else have clothes to burn? Or handmade crafts?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Just me, then.” Loki drops a bundle of leathery and silky fabric on the ground. Ridiculously large shoulder pads can be seen jutting from it, and Brunnhilde tries not to snort, wondering how he’d fit through a doorway. Loki, unsmiling, lights a new match and drops it onto the outfit, casting a ward over it to contain the smoke. The room brightens as the fabric of the green cape twists and pulls, eaten outward by growing flame.

“Things are never going to go back to the way they were before, are they?” he asks, stepping back to stand next to Thor. “Between you and me, I mean.”

“You mean me extending the hand of friendship repeatedly and you betraying me each and every time?”

Brunnhilde claims a bench at the back of the room and seats herself, listening.

“I told you -- it’s not personal.” Loki drops down before to the small fire, poking a finger into it briefly. “It’s just mischief. It’s in my nature.”

Thor shakes his head, moving to sit by his brother. “Any number of things could be ‘in your nature.’ You choose what to be.”

“Ah, no.” Loki’s scornful reply is immediate. “You repeat yourself and are wrong each time. Our lives were chosen for us before we were even born. I was destined for your shadow; everything I did was to escape.” He gives a wan smile, and his eyes lock on Thor’s. If he were hoping for his brother to be persuaded, however, he’s disappointed.

“Maybe that was true at first,” Thor sighs. “But eventually, I think you discovered you enjoyed evil.”

Loki’s smile vanishes. “I don’t.”

“Really? I did wonder.”

“Well, we’re all wrong sometimes.” Loki gives him a bitter smirk.

“Even you?”

“Even me.” Loki half-laughs. “My world-domination success rate is… suboptimal.”

“Even your domination is a sub,” Brunnhilde summarises. “Hm. Fitting.”

Loki turns around. “Excuse me. I’m having a moment.”

Brunnhilde leans back. “Duly noted.”

“I’m surprised you’re even talking, Loki,” Thor observes.

“It’s the ambience of the room,” Loki returns sarcastically. “Korg playing the ukulele in the corner and all.”

Thor shifts and looks. “I was wondering what that music was. Hey, Korg!”

“Hey, man!” Korg waves briefly before returning to plucking out golden notes with his large, rocky fingers.

“Sakaar has been kind to you,” Thor notes, turning back to his brother. “You seem happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

Loki’s ‘moment’ seems to have passed. He’s checking his fingernails, his mind already lost in some other interest. “Perhaps I’ve always been destined for the Island of Misfit Toys.”

“Is that self-pity I hear?”

Loki raises his eyes briefly, then looks back; his brother doesn’t deserve his full attention anymore. “You know me _so_ well.”

“I do. And I don’t believe what I said, about you being evil. Whether or not you’re _good_ … Only you can decide that for yourself. But if you wanted to kill Father and Mother and me to take the throne yourself, you could have. Unquestionably. And instead you devised a far-from-ironclad plan, a gamble almost destined to fail at one point or another.”

Loki picks a cuticle. “You think I self-sabotaged my attempt to become ruler?”

“I believe you’re clever enough to have succeeded, and instead, you failed.”

“Perhaps you should turn the throne over to Lady Valkyrie or Heimdall and become a psychoanalyst. Losing an eye has improved your perception.”

“So I’m right?”

“You sound almost like me.”

Thor drapes an arm loosely over Loki’s shoulder. “Brother, what would I do without you here to spite me?”

Loki drops his hand into his lap. “Very well, I’d imagine. You have, after all, become a hero to the whole galaxy.”

“He had some help,” Bruce puts in.

Thor nods. “I did. The difference between you and me, perhaps, is that I was never alone, and you always tried to be.”

Silence stretches between the two brothers sitting so close by the fire. “You great, _stupid_ fool,” Loki finally sighs. “I don’t want to live as your inferior. I cannot. And yet…” He purses his lips, shakes his head, and meets Thor’s eyes. “You are my family. I realise that now. Through life, though not through blood. And some part of me -- I do, I think, love you, my brother. Somehow, in some odd way, I do.”

“Ah, Loki.” Thor smiles. “You dramatic, silly creature. I love you, too.”

Brunnhilde looks at Korg, whose craggy mouth curves upward. She rests her chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee, silent, letting the brothers relax into each others’ embrace.

A few minutes pass. Then Thor shifts uncomfortably. “Loki,” he grumbles, “Please stop stabbing me with the point of your candy cane. It’s getting tiresome.”

Loki gives one last poke and disentangles himself from Thor’s muscles. He hasn’t even fully stood up from the bench when a scream erupts from outside the room, immediately followed by confused shouting. Thor is at the door before Loki’s even made it to his feet.

The metal entrance bursts apart, and a scrawny figure in green linen clothes sprints inside. Like a hunted beast, she stops right in the middle of the room, her eyes darting wildly. When she meets Brunnhilde’s deadpan face, she skids backwards.

Brunnhilde stands and smacks her fist into her palm. “Showtime, bitch.”

Thor tries not to react. “Hela,” he greets.

Loki has just managed to draw his twin blades when Skurge heaves himself inside the room, frantic. “She escaped!” he cries, squirming through the hole Hela left in the door. “Hela, she’s out!”

Brunnhilde cuts him off. “Not for long.”

Hela grinds her teeth and pushes her hair away from her face, summoning the last remnants of power left to her. Metal antlers emerge from her skull, and she clenches her hands into fists, preparing to summon her weapons.

“It’s no use,” Korg observes neutrally, still plucking away in the corner. “You’re too far from Asgard, and you’re trapped.” He stands. “Also, I don’t think we’ve met! I’m Korg, and this creature sitting on my shoulder is Miek.” He steps over and offers his hand to the Goddess of Death.

Hela looks at his hand. She looks at Thor. She looks at Brunnhilde. She looks at Skurge. “Oh, fuck this shit,” she sighs. “Listen, I just wanted a bit of holiday cheer-”

Brunnhilde cuts her off, grasping onto her throat. Hela splutters, hands twitching, as Brunnhilde grasps onto one of her antlers and tears her helmet from her head. It clangs to the floor with a shivering, echoing ring. “This is for the Valkyrie,” she spits. She raises Hela off the ground. “Deck the halls, bitch.”

She slams her into the hallway floor hard enough to crack it.

For a moment, everything is still. 


	8. Chapter 8

Loki breaks the silence first. “We should really put her in a better containment chamber,” he remarks, stepping through the doorway and kicking Hela’s limp form. He looks to Skurge pointedly. “With a better guard.”

“Yes, ah, there might be some other issue that you still haven’t seen,” Skurge says, his voice small.

“ _What?_ ”

It takes them three steps outside the room to see the commotion Hela’s escape has caused. It doesn’t matter that she’s almost powerless and doesn’t constitute a threat anymore; people won’t stop being scared of the woman who almost destroyed them all. A crowd of Asgardians in the hallway are holding onto their own bodies as if they’re trying to mend a reopened scar. Thor watches them with apprehension, trying to comfort the ones closest to him.

A single, piercing voice rises above the tormented crowd:

“ _Screw you, Hela!_ ” a young girl shouts, sitting atop her mother’s shoulders and throwing her fist into the air.

“You can say fuck, honey,” her mother gently corrects her. Brunnhilde recognises the voice of the woman in the crowd who had reprimanded her for swearing and smiles.

“ _Fuck_ you, Hela!” the girl shouts.

A wave of anger takes over each Asgardian as their faces shift from afraid to vindicated, each taking in the sight of the murderess sprawled out on the ground. A man starts clapping. “Fuck you, Hela!” he echoes. “Fuck you!”

The crowd picks up the chant. “FUCK YOU, HELA! FUCK YOU, HELA!”

“Go Valkyrie!” a small boy cries.

“FUCK YOU, HELA! GO, VALKYRIE!” The calls turn into cheers.

“Now that’s what I call a holiday!” Brunnhilde shouts into the crowd, face flushed. She catches Thor’s eye and smiles at him, the light electrifying her eyes.

“Pardon me, excuse me.” A familiar voice cuts through the noise, and the Grandmaster emerges with a shit-eating grin. “Where’s my mistress?”

“You idiot!” Loki stomps out of the room, grabs the Grandmaster’s wrist, and hauls him inside. “You -- what did you -- you released her from her cell, didn’t you!”

“The, the containment chamber,” the Grandmaster reprimands. “You know I, hmm, I don’t like the word-”

“Shut up! Are you saying that Hela, _who is now powerless_ , just _mysteriously emerged_ -”

“All I’m saying,” the Grandmaster wags a finger, “Is that life, uh, finds a way. Life breaks free.”

“That’s not-” Loki throws his hands into the air. “That’s not even the right franchise! You-”

“You,” the Grandmaster’s voice turns petulant, accusatory, “You, ah, you told me you wanted things _exciting_ on the nights we-”

“For once in your life just shut up! For fuck’s sake, this,” Loki points to the unconscious Hela, “This is _not_ foreplay!”

The Grandmaster steps back and swishes his robe. “I’m disappointed,” he snips. “For a chaos god, you’re rather dull.”

“For an Elder, you’re rather _ridiculous_.”

“For a thousand-year old shapeshifter, you look remarkably bad.”

“For a million-year-old being, you _dress_ remarkably bad.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.” The Grandmaster snaps his fingers. “This, _this_ is the foreplay.”

Loki drops his head into his hands, feeling the remnants of his personality absolutely shredded by embarrassment. “Please, can you just lock Hela back up?”

“Fine. But later, _someone else_ will be getting,” the Grandmaster waggles his fingers, “Locked up.”

“No,” Loki hisses through clenched teeth, “Not in front of them. _Please_.”

“Yep, yep, I definitely don’t want to hear it.” Brunnhilde takes hold of the Grandmaster’s shoulders and shoves him toward the door. “Take the murderous hag with you and get out of here.”

“Leave the helmet,” Bruce chimes in. “I have an idea.” He lifts it from the floor with significant effort, holding it awkwardly as the Grandmaster swings Hela over his shoulder and exits. “I don’t want to disrespect anyone’s tradition, and I certainly don’t know what I’m doing, but -- maybe we can light candles, since that’s one of the holidays Midgardians celebrate. Lights to honor the dead, and to celebrate life. So I’m thinking -- something like a menorah, with this.”

“It’s perfect.” Thor grins.

Loki places a warning hand on his arm. “Wait,” he says. He turns to Brunnhilde. “Hela… she-”

“She killed the Valkyrie, yes.” Brunnhilde trembles slightly. “She murdered them all.”

Loki turns back to Thor, catching Bruce’s eyes as well. “Perhaps we shouldn’t.”

“No.” Brunnhilde’s voice even and strong. “We’ve taken her power, her freedom, her dignity. This helmet was hers, the fact that we have it shows that she’s been vanquished. The lights of the dead will burn atop it, telling the world that we have defeated her.” She turns to Thor. “It _is_ perfect. She -- the Valkyrie -- would love it, knowing they were avenged, knowing we were honoring them.”

An almost-smile flickers at Thor’s lips. “Then we shall light. First, though, we must allay the fears of the Asgardians.” He turns to the crowd outside. Heimdall now stands at the head of it, his gold eyes tired and pensive.

“Did you bring them up here?” Brunnhilde asks him.

“I saw Hela freed from her cell and warned the Asgardians to flee. These people here,” he gestures behind him, “Are those who grabbed whatever weapons they could find and decided to fight instead of running.”

Thor looks at the bedraggled crowd, noticing for the first time the assortment of swords, daggers, and sharpened candy canes they hold. Touched, he dips his head. “We thank you deeply for your heroism.”

“We didn’t do it for you,” the little girl shouts. “We did it for Valkyrie!”

Brunnhilde, shocked, breaks into a grin.

“You’re _awesome_ ,” the girl goes on. “Totally awesome.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Brunnhilde beckons the little girl over, “You are, too.”

The girl jumps down from her mother’s shoulders and hugs Brunnhilde tightly. “Happy Heladays!”

Brunnhilde tilts her head, patting the girl’s head awkwardly. “Happy what?”

“Heladays! Because it’s the end of Hela’s days!”

“I like that,” Thor remarks. “Happy Heladays. Banner?”

“Yeah. Happy Heladays.”

“Seconded. Thirded?” Loki thinks for a moment. “The girl is the first, and then Thor seconded, Jekyll thirded, so… fourthed?”

“By that point, nobody even cares for your opinion,” Brunnhilde notifies him.

“Loki, with all due respect, which is probably none, did you just call me Jekyll?”

“Thank you for that,” Brunnhilde tells the girl. “Ignore the stupid men being stupid. Happy Heladays to you, too.”

“Thank you.” She shuffles her feet. “Can we go back to dancing now?”

“Of course.” Brunnhilde raises her eyes to the whole crowd. “Happy Heladays. Sing. Eat. Dance. Perform a lyre cover of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You.’ Have fun; you’ve more than earned it.”

“Thank you.” Heimdall nods respectfully. “We will be going.”

“You could stay with us, if you like,” Thor offers. “You seem tired, and I know you prefer calmer environments to-”

“Say no more.” Heimdall slides into the room. “I am more than happy to remain here for a bit.”

“Why? What’s going on down there?” Bruce whispers, as the crowd starts to depart.

“A rousing chorus of ‘ninety-nine bottles of mead on the wall.’ Suffice to say that, especially while inebriated, many Asgardians are not exactly… talented singers.”

Brunnhilde smirks. “I’d imagine.”

“Do you… Do you want me to go, too?” Skurge asks hesitantly. “I mean, I’ve -- I did sorta fall asleep on the job, and then Hela escaped, and-”

“Hold on. You fell asleep?!”

“It happens,” Korg cuts in. “You know.” He smiles benignly. “I think he should stay if he wants to. Miek? Miek says yes, too.”

“Miek said nothing,” Loki points out.

Korg fixes him with a stare.”Is it wise to doubt a creature with knives for hands, bro?”

“Nope!” Loki steps back very quickly. “Nope. I have no objections.”

“Very well,” Thor tells Skurge. “You may stay.”

“Thank you, Mister Thor. I’m sorry for nappin’ on the job.”

“I have candles, if you wish to commence a lighting.” Heimdall produces some from his belt. “Bruce gave them to me.”

“Thank you.” Thor accepts them gratefully.

Bruce drags a table over and place the helmet atop it. Together, he and Heimdall place a candle on each point.

“You should light first,” Thor offers Brunnhilde, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You have lost the most.”

Brunnhilde shakes her head and covers Thor’s hand with her own. “I’d rather not. I… would like more time. To think.”

“I’ll go first, then,” says Loki, uncharacteristically solemn. “If you’ll allow me.”

“You may.”

“For Mother,” Loki says, his voice holding a softness Thor has never heard. He lights the candle from his still-blazing outfit and lowers it to the rightmost wick, the flickering light hollowing his face still further. “May she forgive me.”

He hands the candle to Thor wordlessly. “For Father,” Thor says, as he places flame to wick. “May he get what he deserves.”

He passes the flame to Brunnhilde. She lights the next candle, hand steady. “For all the Valkyrior,” she whispers, cupping the new flame, “But especially one.” Her eyes go glassy as she stares past the lights, glimpsing the ashes of a love only she has felt. “Valhalla never knew what hit it. I hope… I hope they’re having fun.”

“They’d be so proud of you,” Thor says quietly. “You are the legacy of their love.”

Brunnhilde nods and presses her lips tightly together, handing the candle to Korg.

“For Miek,” Korg proclaims. “He’s not dead, but I thought he was, so I think that counts.”

He looks down to Miek and scoops him into his arm. “Ah,” he says, after a moment. “Miek’s candle is for Doug. I forgot. Doug’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” says Bruce.

“Oh, don’t worry. It wasn’t you. Just the big green monster that takes over your brain sometimes. Miek, since you have knives for hands, can I light your candle for you? Thank you.” Korg cheerfully brings a new light to life and passes the candle on, smiling. “Here, your turn.”

Bruce takes the candle gratefully. “For Ricky,” he says, as he lights the next wick. “My dog. When I was in Brazil -- he meant a lot to me. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive or a stray now, but I loved him.”

Skurge takes the candle next. “For my parents,” he says. “If this’ll mean anything to them. I messed up, but I tried my best. And I’m gonna do better now.” Deferential, he hands the candle to Heimdall.

“For the life we lost,” Heimdall offers, the flame seeming to glow brighter in his hand. “And in hope of new beginnings.” Somber, he lights the last of the eight wicks.

“If there’s something greater out there, anywhere,” Brunnhilde says, taking the candle from him and placing it in the center of the makeshift candelabra, “Then may it bless us. Every one.”

“That was beautiful.”

“Thank you, Korg.”

She steps back and laces her fingers with Thor’s, who reaches to his right and clasps Loki’s hand. Loki smiles for a moment, then turns and eyes Heimdall nervously.

“For the holiday season,” Heimdall decides, “And never again.”

He takes Loki’s hand irreverently, offering his other to Skurge. Skurge takes it and holds his hand out to Bruce, who reluctantly accepts it. Korg takes his other hand, Miek atop his shoulders, and Brunnhilde catches hold of his other thumb.

For a moment, they stand in a silent circle around the helmet candelabra, watching the flames, light playing up and down their faces in flickering gold.

Then Loki breaks the circle, turning and stepping away. “The Grandmaster and I have our own ‘tradition’ to attend to,” he notifies the group, doffing a nonexistent hat. “So I must be away. Oh, and the tree Bruce and I took from Asgard is just outside the room. I put all the ornaments on it already, so that you all wouldn’t get a chance to, but I left the star for you.”

Without another word, he turns and sweeps out the door.

“Bitch,” Bruce mutters. “I like decorating trees.”

“And I, too, must return. I believe some dangerously intoxicating chemicals have found their way into the eggnog the Asgardians are enjoying downstairs,” Heimdall says.

Brunnhilde shifts her weight. “About that. I, uh-”

“Do not worry, Lady Brunnhilde. I will attend to it.”

With a final cryptic smile, Heimdall leaves the circle. Skurge, intrigued by ‘dangerously intoxicating chemicals,’ follows, and only Bruce, Thor, Korg, Miek, and Brunnhilde remain.

“So… the tree, if we want to decorate it,” Bruce suggests. “Out in the hallway. Loki and I did get one from Asgard. I didn’t notice it on our way in, but,” he leans sideways and peers out through the door, “It’s there, sure enough.”

“And it’s only missing one thing.” Thor smiles. “Shall we?”

Brunnhilde nods, leading their small group outside and hefting the star off the ground. “Your majesty,” she quips, handing it to Thor and snickering affectionately as he staggers for a moment under its weight.

Thor smiles around at all his friends -- Bruce, with his tentative but growing grin, Brunnhilde with her easy smile, Korg and Miek cheerful and happily confused. He reaches up the tree, stretching as high as he can go, and just as he is about to deposit the star on the topmost branch-

The tree turns into Loki who shouts MBLERGH! and stabs him

**Author's Note:**

> happy heladays you fuckers and thank you so much for reading this trash <3


End file.
